


Not Fooling Anyone

by HisAngelThursday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accepting Sam Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Coming Out, Confessions, Dean Coming to Terms With his Sexuality, Dean In Love, Dean in Denial, Dean in Panties, Homophobic John, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday
Summary: After a particularly gushy phone conversation with his favorite baby in a trench coat, Dean hits on a waitress to compensate.  But this time, Sam isn’t having it.A.K.A. a semi-coda inspired by the most recent episode, about what would happen if Sam ever called Dean out on his blatant compensation for his concern/affection for Cas.





	

“Alright, let us know if you got any leads. See you later, buddy. Be safe.” I love you. 

It’s the only thing missing, and Dean can feel the vacancy in the air where the three little words should have been. But he’s still smiling inside as he hangs up, the familiar deep voice and stilted speaking mannerisms still ringing in his ears. He could listen to that voice all day if he could, and love every minute of it. 

But he doesn’t smile, and he doesn’t say I love you, mainly because, of course, Sam’s there. He’s sitting across from the table from him and pretending to read the desert menu. As if the salad-muncher ever actually eats deserts. 

Dean looks around for the waitress, an athletic Latina girl with long legs and a runner’s body. She’s beautiful, of course, and more importantly she’s just what Dean needs to distract from the unusually intimate conversation he just had with another dude. 

“So. How is everything?” she asks, grinning a white-toothed smile aimed directly at Dean. 

“Delicious. Waffles are the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen all day. Second only to you, sweetheart,” Dean adds with a wink, pretending not to notice Sam’s exaggerated eye-roll from across the table. 

As predicted, the girl giggles and makes a blushy gesture before bustling away. Success. 

It really doesn’t matter to Dean that he stopped pursuing women her age at least five years ago (there’s no way the girl can be older than twenty-five), or that in recent years he’s become a lot less interested in hooking up with random women all together. 

All that matters to him is that he stays the same in Sammy’s eyes: manly, womanizer, smooth-talking Dean, his big brother and hero. As long as Sam continues to believe it, then Dean can believe it, too. 

“Dean, you know you’re not fooling anyone, right?” 

Dean blinks, looking abruptly in Sam’s direction. Surely he couldn’t have heard correctly. “Wuh?” he manages stupidly, caught off guard by the abruptness of his tone. 

Sam’s eyelids flutter. “You really think I haven’t noticed,” he continues, voice so patient and patronizing Dean would want to break something if he wasn’t so shocked. “That immediately after every last conversation with Cas you’ve had for the past six months, you find some excuse to hit on the first thing with boobs?” 

Dean’s completely caught off guard. He barely has time to process that this situation is literally something from his worst nightmares. He just stares, mouth flopping open and closed like a fish. “I…you…I, uh…” Finally, he manages, “That’s…that’s sexist.”

Sam looks simultaneously sympathetic and unimpressed. “Dean, you know,” he tries again, gently. “You know I’m not Dad, right? You don’t have to constantly prove to me you’re manly, or even necessarily, you know.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Straight.”

Dean gawks. Certainly he’s had his sexual orientation questioned before, but never by Sam. At least, not nearly this directly. “But I am straight!” he cries, not even caring how childish he sounds.

Two women at the next table pause in their conversation to shoot him bemused glances, and he ducks his head, ears flaming. 

“I’m not saying you aren’t,” Sam assures him, lowering his head so he can meet Dean’s gaze. “I’m just saying that you don’t necessarily have to be: you’re not obligated to like girls exclusively. And even if you are, you don’t have to go around proving it to everyone all the time.” 

“I’m not,” Dean mutters, feeling defensive. “I just like to hit on hot pieces of ass, is all. Doesn’t everybody?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you’re doing it right now. Nobody talks like that!”

Dean glowers at him, arms folded. “Well, I do. Wanna make something of it?”

Sam looks around, then leans forward, and says in a hushed voice: “Dean, you’re siren was a dude. You’ve had a crush on Gunner Lawless since we were kids, and Doctor Sexy since that Godforsaken show came on to begin with. I’ve seen you get picked up by guys on four separate occasions, and I’ve caught you checking out guys and flirting with them more times than I can count. Also, I found you’re porn magazines, and not those gross Asian fetish ones, either. The other ones, that you keep hidden under your chest of drawers. Yeah, those. And,” he concludes, as if this self-image demolishing rant hasn’t already done enough damage, “I know you’re wearing lacy pink underwear. Right now.”

Dean’s eyes are as round as pie tins. “How did you -” 

“When you were bending over the hood of the Impala this morning you were kinda -” Sam grimaces, gesticulating vaguely. “- Showing more than you probably should have been.” 

Dean stares at Sam, then numbly down at his hands, still in shock. 

After a moment, Sam tries again. “Look, Dean,” he sighs. “I really wanted you to come to terms with this on your own, but it’s been decades. And if you don’t feel safe enough to tell your own brother, than I don’t think you’ll ever feel safe enough to tell anyone. And you can’t keep hiding this from yourself, Dean.” He sighs again, slumping back in his chair. “It isn’t healthy.” 

Dean makes no response. He doesn’t trust himself to. If you opened his mouth now, he’s pretty sure all that would come out would be a sob, or a string of unintelligible gibberish. 

He remembers the rant John gave him, the first and only time he ever caught Dean with another boy: 'What kind of example are you settin’ for your brother, boy!? You want him to grow up and be a faggot like you?'

The emotional wound still feels raw whenever he thinks about it, the hollow sting of John’s words undaunted by time. It made him feel empty inside. Empty and filthy. 

He wonders how many other people have known: did Jody? Mom? The other hunters? Bobby?

It makes his heart hurt to think that they might have thought that way about him, looked at him the way John did that day without ever showing it for fear of hurting his feelings or being rude. Like something small, effeminate, and contemptible. Like some kind of faggot. 

“I still love you, you know.” 

Dean blinks, looking up with eyes he hadn’t even realized were damp. “What?” he manages.

“I said I still love you, you know, if that’s what you’re still worried about,” Sam repeats. “And it doesn’t make you any less awesome to me, or anything like that, either. If anything I admire you even more.”

“…You do.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam huffs. “We were raised in the 80s, Dean. The AIDS epidemic was in full swing. Being a man who loves men…it takes a lot of courage, even just existing. I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

Dean nods jerkily, looking down at the remnants of his waffles. His trachea contracts dryly, but he’s determined not to cry. So they just sit there in silence. 

Finally, the waitress – Angelique, her nametag says, in some cruel twist of irony – to bring them their checks. 

“Left a little something for you on the back of it,” she winks. “Hit me up next time you’re in town, handsome.” 

Dean turns it over, and yup, it’s her number. He thinks about making some witticism, promising her that she can count on it, and then, of course, never actually following through. 

But then he remembers that his audience has long-since seen through his facade. He no longer needs to perform. It’s a bittersweet sensation, almost, knowing that his alter-ego has outlived its usefulness. 

So, he gives her a smile – not the cocky one that goads people into pool matches, not the sexy smirk that gets him free drinks and phone numbers, but a real one. Real and genuine. 

“I’m real flattered, sweetheart,” he assures her, silently gathering his courage. “But, you see, I, uh…” 

Briefly, he falters. Then, he looks at Sam, who gives him a short, genuine nod. He’s looking at Dean hopefully, a glimmer of genuine pride in his eyes. He’s still his brother’s hero, he realizes. Just for a different reason than he thought he was. 

He steadies himself, and concludes, “…I already have a boyfriend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the support I've been getting on my other fics! I rarely reply to comments, because I'm a socially awkward pile of goo, but they fill my heart with joy like nothing else. <3


End file.
